


and gravity, scientists say, is weak

by couldaughter



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Apologies, Communication, Gen, POV Martin Blackwood, Pre-Relationship, Teacher Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “Oh,” Martin said. His mind went blank for a moment. “I, uh, thank you? Anything specific you wanted to get into?”Jon pulled a crumpled post-it out of his pocket. Martin stared at it the way he imagined a group of workmen digging a gas line might stare at a UXB. “You wrote alist?”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker
Comments: 17
Kudos: 151
Collections: tma fics





	and gravity, scientists say, is weak

**Author's Note:**

> this does not fit into my other teacher au! this one is a no fears au where the magnus institute does not exist. elias has the personality of jonah magnus and the power of an academy head

Martin had been working in education for a solid two months before someone figured out that he wasn’t just fucking up out of incompetence.

“Hang on, then,” said Tim, as unwittingly intimidating as ever in dark jeans, check shirt and patterned tie. He leaned forward over the guillotine, knees brushing the hard plastic edge of the table, and grinned. “You’ve only been a TA since _September_?”

“Don’t _shout_ about it,” said Martin, shoulders hunched. He pushed his glasses up his nose, trying to ignore the prickle of incoming tears, and bit his lip. “I didn’t mean to lie about it, it just… sort of happened? You can’t tell anyone,” he added abruptly. “I know you think it’s hilarious, but it’s not. It’s not a joke, y’know. This is the only job I’ve kept longer than a month in almost two years.”

Tim blinked, then put a comforting hand on Martin’s shoulder. Tim had very big hands. He jumped slightly, if only because he literally couldn’t remember the last time someone tried to comfort him. “Of course not, Blackwood. We’re the TA dream team, remember? And now I know, you can come to me if you need help with anything, instead of having a breakdown in the art cupboard every other Thursday.”

It was in fact during one such meltdown that their current conversation began, but Martin still didn’t appreciate the reference. 

“I’d better get on with this,” he said, turning away and trying to look very interested in organising a box of tissue paper offcuts. “It’s, um, I — thanks, Tim.”

“Any time,” said Tim. He patted Martin’s shoulder again, fond, and left.

Martin shuffled through the box aimlessly for a few minutes, making only a cursory attempt to shift the colours into something approaching order. He rubbed at his eyes when the ever-present prickling feeling intensified, sniffed a little bit, and shifted his attention to the cluster of half-empty glitter glue bottles on the middle shelf.

He was about halfway through those when he heard an awkward cough behind him. He turned, gold in one hand and red in the other, to find Jon stood in the doorway, resting heavily against the frame.

“Oh,” said Martin, slightly strangled. “Um, hello.”

“Hello,” said Jon, less strangled. “May I… come in?” 

Martin struggled to hold in a snort and ended up coughing violently into the crook of his elbow. Jon, when Martin felt stable enough to check, looked genuinely alarmed at this turn of events, but had not actually left.

“Sure,” said Martin. _This might as well happen_. “Welcome to my palace of earthly delights.”

Jon shuffled in, then — horrifyingly — folded up his walking stick and sat down beside Martin, legs crossed and hands neatly in his lap, exactly like the superstar sitting poster they had stuck over the whiteboard. His eyes flicked nervously to each corner of the room before settling somewhere just to the left of Martin’s face, glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose.

Martin really didn’t know what to make of it. He and Jon hadn’t exactly got off on the right foot on the INSET day at the start of term, when Martin accidentally let a stray dog into the classroom. It was a little difficult to foster an environment of professional respect when your first day together on the job was marred by a visit from the RSPCA.

Now they mostly functioned in the classroom, where Martin put out all the little fires that came with education and Jon keeping the whole place running relatively smoothly, but outside of that — they generally didn’t see eye to eye. Or at least, Jon seemed to see Martin as a puzzle to be solved, or a problem to be fixed, rather than a colleague to be worked with. Occasionally he brought in education magazines and left them in obvious places around the classroom, making pointed noises until Martin picked them up and tucked them in his satchel.

He did read them, to be fair, and they were usually helpful, but Martin much preferred direct feedback to whatever the hell Jon was up to.

“So,” said Martin, after a long, excruciating silence. “Any reason you’ve joined me in the crying cupboard?”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “I thought that was what the science cupboard was for,” he said, dry as a bone.

“Nah,” Martin replied. “That’s _so_ last month.”

“You cried in there before it was cool?” Jon asked, almost smiling. Martin’s heart skipped, because it was a traitorous bastard when it wanted to be. 

“I’m always ahead of the curve,” he said, then gnawed a little at his thumbnail. Jon had clearly come here for something besides witty repartee, and Martin would really prefer it if he just got to the fucking point already. “Could you, um, get to the point?” He cringed. “Don’t want to be rude but we’re not. We’re not exactly crying in the cupboard together friends, are we?”

“I suppose not,” Jon allowed, eyebrows pinched. He tapped the fingers of his left hand on his knee, scarred skin stretching smooth. He’d told the class he shook hands with a volcano, which Martin thought was unlikely considering he still had the hand. He didn’t really like to speculate about what actually happened. “It’s. Well. I wanted to apologise.”

He said it tentatively, as if unsure what Martin would think about the idea. 

“Alright,” said Martin. He shut his eyes for a moment. “What for?”

“Quite a few things,” said Jon, ruefully. “But I’d start at the top with “horrible workplace attitude” and go from there.”

“Oh,” Martin said. His mind went blank for a moment. “I, uh, thank you? Anything specific you wanted to get into?”

Jon pulled a crumpled post-it out of his pocket. Martin stared at it the way he imagined a group of workmen digging a gas line might stare at a UXB. “You wrote a _list_?”

This had to be a dream. Otherwise Martin had gone mad in the art cupboard, which would be a new low.

“It helps me organise my thoughts,” said Jon, defensively. His shoulders had risen slightly, cardigan starting to slide down his upper arms. “And Georgie said it would help.”

Martin had heard of Georgie a few times, mostly when one of the kids asked Jon for advice and he started his response with, “My friend Georgie tells me…”. He was pretty sure they were flatmates, possibly dating, and that Georgie had contributed about half of Jon’s teaching wardrobe.

“Well,” he said, feeling oddly amused. “If _Georgie_ said it would help…”

Jon looked ready to snap for a moment in a way Martin found all too familiar. He surprised him, though, by taking a deep breath and returning to his list. “She sat me down last night and informed me that, for all the times I’ve complained about work, I’ve never actually managed to pin down anything you do that is _harmful_ or actively damaging the children’s learning. I just. Find it hard to accommodate alternate points of view in my teaching, and I took out the frustration on you instead of being an adult and figuring it out. So. I’m sorry.”

Martin took a moment to consider this. It made sense, he supposed, and when taken as a whole Jon hadn’t actually been _horrible_ to him. He’d snapped from time to time, given a few very unimpressed looks when Martin forgot to sort the reading books on a Friday or collect the milk from the office a few days in a row, but the level of active hostility had been fairly low. Jon said thank you when Martin brought him tea. It was good to know that Jon was sorry, though. That Martin hadn’t been overreacting when Jon snapping at him over the phonics screening made him retreat immediately to the science cupboard — that was still his preferred spot, at the time.

“Okay,” he said, at length. Jon pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his hair, recently cut to chin length. Martin still mourned the loss a bit, for his sins. “I accept your apology. Um. Don’t do it again?”

“ _Never_ ,” said Jon, far more seriously than Martin would’ve expected. “And if it looks like I’m going to — kick me, or something. Negative reinforcement.”

Martin couldn’t help but snort. “Well, if you insist.” 

“I do.” Jon looked like he was about to continue, halfway through drawing a breath, when the cupboard door swung open.

“Hi guys!” said Tim, cheerful as ever. “Staff meeting in five, thought I’d come and check in to make sure no one got murdered.”

“Not yet,” said Jon, in the sort of dryly threatening way only he could manage. He usually used it on the kids to make sure they washed their hands before lunchtime. “Thank you, Tim. Save us some seats?”

“Oh, always,” said Tim. He grinned. “You two sort things out?”

“Yes,” said Martin. He pushed himself up, hands on his knees, and put the glitter glue back on the shelf before offering Jon a hand up.

He tried not to overthink the way Jon’s hand felt in his, warm and dry, when he took it.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said. He coughed, shoulders still hunched, and pulled his cardigan around his stomach. His lanyard was facing the wrong way.

Martin reached out, unthinking, and turned it face-out. “There,” he said, relishing the look of surprise in Jon’s eyes. “Now you’re presentable.”

Really, Martin was just glad Tim wasn’t there. It would be unbearable, having him uncover his two biggest secrets in one day.

**Author's Note:**

> all i can write now is teacher aus. please send help and/or a longer term supply contract so i can spend time actually teaching instead of doing it vicariously through podcast characters
> 
> the school is called robert smirke primary and is in central london. tim, sasha, jon and martin are the year 1 team (sasha and jon are class teachers, tim and martin are lsas). elias is the head and they all fucking hate him and want him fired.
> 
> when i started this i didn't realise the cinematic parallels between jon and martin working out work conflicts in an art cupboard and jon and martin hiding from worms in the supply cupboard but there we are. sometimes art imitates other art
> 
> jon has still been in a number of traumatic situations resulting in injury but none of them were supernatural. he just has godawful luck and a smart mouth
> 
> if a fellow member of staff is being disrespectful or dismissive please bring it up with a member of slt instead of waiting for him to come to you with an itemised list of apologies that his ex-girlfriend made him write. this is fiction so i can let it slide but in real life... jon u fucked up
> 
> title from [for what binds us](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52468/for-what-binds-us) by jane hirshfield 
> 
> come chat on twitter or tumblr @dotsayers! i love to make new friends and currently all i'm doing with half term is watching horror movies and eating food my parents hand to me


End file.
